


Nuit et Jour

by sparklyscorpion



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Gen, Holiday Fic Exchange, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-11 00:16:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16465040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklyscorpion/pseuds/sparklyscorpion
Summary: Alone and with the holidays approaching, Raoul goes to confront Christine about her coldness towards him. He discovers that not all is as it seems. Leroux-based, but the timeline and events are slightly different. Formerly posted as "The Lonely."





	Nuit et Jour

**Author's Note:**

> I first posted this story in 2008 under the title of "The Lonely" for a winter holidays fic exchange (written for Mary Sue, aka echarperouge). I never liked the original title, hence the change. It's Leroux-based, but I have taken some mild liberties with the timeline to make it fit the prompt better.

Tugging at the cuffs of his jacket as he wandered aimlessly through the streets of Paris, Raoul wondered if this was how it felt to be insane. It was certainly not the first time he'd considered the possibility recently; he'd been contemplating his mental state ever since he'd been unexpectedly reunited with his childhood friend, Christine Daaé. He was consumed with thoughts of the girl, but Raoul was finally beginning to accept the fact that she was mostly indifferent to him. She toyed with his affections at times, presumably when she had nothing better to occupy her, but she didn't share his feelings – and yet he still could not put her from his mind!

The young vicomte had done his best to forget her since the evening he'd seen her in the company of another man in the Bois. Philippe had been eager to show him the various pleasures that the city had to offer – some that could be mentioned in polite company, and others that could not be – and he'd followed his brother around obediently. Philippe had introduced him to several attractive women, all much more receptive to his advances than Christine had ever been, but Raoul had been unable to do more than offer each of them a weak smile that probably looked as forced as it felt. Tonight Philippe had even hosted a party in his honor, but Raoul had only stayed an hour before pleading a headache and slinking away to his rooms.

He'd planned on spending the rest of the night drinking and feeling sorry for himself, but the young man had decided to take a stroll outside before giving in to despair completely. He'd hoped that the crisp night air would clear his mind, perhaps even drive the torturous thoughts of that bewitching Swedish nymph away for a while; instead, he felt more like sulking with every step he took. It was nearly Christmas, a holiday that he normally enjoyed, and yet he'd never felt so unhappy before in his life. It wasn't fair.

Raoul found himself staring up at the building where Christine lived with Mamma Valérius, even though he had not consciously chosen to go there. Perhaps his little walk hadn't been as aimless as he'd thought. He had been inside the apartment only once, to call on Mamma after Christine had disappeared without giving word to anyone of her whereabouts. The old woman hadn't appeared concerned about the girl at all and, shortly after his visit, Raoul had seen Christine cavorting through the Bois. To think that he'd been worried that something horrible had happened to her, when she had only run away to spend time with a lover! The simmering rage that had been twisting in his gut for days threatened to overtake him.

Why did he love her? She certainly didn't deserve anything from him except scorn. She had mocked him more than once, and she had made him play the fool in front of all of Paris, including his brother. He had confessed his devotion to her, and she had repaid his feelings by using him cruelly! She had another lover – Raoul had heard him in the girl's dressing room, a man she called Erik! How could she play him so heartlessly? She had been so sweet as a child…

He wanted to tell her that he despised her now, even though it was a lie. Maybe if he coolly informed her that his feelings had changed during her absence, it would become the truth with time. Perhaps confronting her was what it would take to exorcise her from his soul; perhaps she would no longer torment his every waking thought if he dismissed her from his life tonight.

Racing up the stairs that led to the third floor, Raoul banged his fist on the wooden door, uncaring of who might hear him. He'd already graced the gossip rags enough because of Christine – what would a little more damage to the de Chagny name mean now? His brother might even be pleased if word got back to him that Raoul had finally decided to cut all ties with "the little baggage," as he so often called her. Philippe was right! She was nothing more than a scheming minx! Raoul could feel his cheeks growing flushed, though not from taking the stairs two at a time; no, he was angry now, and rightfully so!

"Who is it?" a voice hissed on the other side of the door, and Raoul recognized it as Christine's instantly.

"Raoul de Chagny," he declared imperiously, straightening his back to prepare for his tirade, even as he felt his resolve falter slightly. Just hearing her voice made him feel a little thrill of pleasure, but he tried to squash the weakness before it had the opportunity to overwhelm him.

"Raoul, what are you doing here?" Christine sounded more than a little exasperated, and Raoul ground his teeth together in frustration. Why should she be annoyed at  _him_? He had never been anything but straightforward and honest with her; he was the one who had the right to be irritated!

"I wish to speak with you, Mademoiselle." He slipped easily into the detached formality that had been instilled in him since he was a small boy. His icy words sounded almost identical to something Philippe would say when angry, and the similarity unnerved him a bit.

Christine was silent for several seconds, and Raoul impatiently swept off his top hat as he waited for her to unlock the door. "I cannot see you," she said after a moment. "Go away, Raoul, and please don't come back."

Why would she not see him? Surely she owed him that decency – unless there was a reason she would not let him inside! Raoul fought the urge to tug at the mustache that had taken him so long to grow. Perhaps her lover was inside with her right now! He could imagine them both laughing at his misery, and Raoul had never despised Christine as much as he did at that moment. "You mean that you do not wish to see me!" he thundered, his voice laced with all of the bitterness that had been filling his young heart for weeks. "Have you tired so quickly of toying with my heart, Mademoiselle? Am I not enough sport for you?"

"Raoul, please…" There was a loud sigh on the other side of the door, but still she did not open it. "I want to see you. You cannot understand how much I wish that I could see you, to make you understand! But I  _can't_ see you, because I promised that I would see no one but Mamma."

"Who has asked you to make such a promise?" Raoul questioned, even though he already suspected the answer. Erik, her lover, of course! The man he had heard in her dressing room, and the man that Christine had no doubt been sharing a carriage with when Raoul had seen her in the Bois. He must be a very jealous fellow indeed, not that Raoul blamed him for it!

"Oh Raoul, if you have ever loved me at all, don't ask me to speak his name!" Christine seemed suspiciously close to tears, and Raoul felt most of his rage evaporating as he listened to her obvious distress. How could he possibly stay angry at her when she spoke in such a heartbreaking manner? "Please, I can't bear to talk of it."

She didn't sound like a woman who was playing with his affections now, and she certainly didn't sound like a woman who was in love with another man. She sounded frightened, and in spite of his internal protestations to the contrary, Raoul did adore her. It pained him to hear the distress in her voice, and it pained him even more to realize that there was nothing he could do about it. "Then we won't speak of him," he swore finally, resting his forehead against the door.

"Go away, Raoul," she pleaded, although weakly. "I promised that I'd see no one but Mamma…"

"Christine, you can't see me through the door." He heard Christine sigh loudly again, but she didn't order him away; that fact, insignificant as it was, made his heart flutter a little inside his chest.

"Stubborn Raoul," she murmured finally in defeat. "You've always been stubborn, even as a boy. Do you remember when you took violin lessons from Papa? You happily sawed away at the strings with such a look of determination, even though the sounds coming from the violin were absolutely horrible."

"Yes, I remember." Raoul smiled as he recalled the simpler times of their youth; it was the first time he'd smiled in days, and his lips felt tight from disuse. "I knew that I'd never be able to play as well as your father did, but it was a convenient excuse to see you."

"And what excuse did you give Philippe tonight so you could spend your evening standing in a hallway?"

Her question seemed innocent enough, but still Raoul bristled; he was a grown man, and he shouldn't have to excuse his behavior to anyone, even though he did explain his whereabouts to Philippe on a regular basis. "He's hosting a party tonight," he admitted a little sullenly. "I told him that I was feeling ill, but I doubt that he'll notice I'm gone at all."

"A party," Christine whispered on the other side of the door. "I wish that I could…"

They were both quiet for several moments, and Raoul wished fervently that he could see her, if only for a second. It was difficult having a conversation with the door between them, even more so because he was unsure of where he stood with her. She had alternately pushed him away and begged him to return, and he felt like a piece of driftwood at the mercy of the sea's waves.

"I suppose that parties are forbidden?" he asked finally, though he knew the answer. A fresh wave of anger, now directed solely at Christine's lover, swelled in his chest.

"Not all of them. I'm allowed to attend the masquerade ball next week. He promised." She sounded so hopeful that it hurt Raoul to hear her speak.

"It's cruel to keep you here alone, especially during this time of the year." Raoul could not imagine a harsher punishment than to keep Christine tucked away from the world, and he ground his teeth together once again. Why was she allowing this man to have so much sway over her? It was as if he owned part of her soul.

"I'm not alone. I have Mamma."

"And me," he reminded her hastily, pressing the palm of his hand against the door as he spoke. Raoul felt like a weak fool, but he no longer cared; he was beginning to hope again. "You have me, Christine, for as long as you like."

"Oh Raoul, don't tempt me!" The girl took a deep breath before continuing. "Do you remember when you came to Perros? Not the last time, but the time before that, when we were young." Christine didn't wait for Raoul to answer her, even though he did remember the scene vividly; it was when he had realized that he was in love with her for the first time. "You said that you would never forget me – but you must, Raoul. If you ever loved me at all, you  _must_  try to forget me!"

"You may as well ask me to forget the sun or moon, the stars—"

Christine's cry interrupted his words, and the door rattled in its frame as she slid to the floor. Kneeling before the doorway, Raoul could see her fingertips just beneath the door's edge. He took a fortifying breath and brushed his fingers against Christine's, and he was relieved when she did not shy away from the contact.

"This isn't any time for poetry." Her voice broke on the words, and she clung to Raoul's fingers as if they were her only tie to the world. "You don't understand – you  _can't_  understand!"

She was crying now, and it hurt Raoul to hear her misery without being able to help her. "You're right Christine. I don't understand. If you'd open the door so I might see you—"

But before he could finish his plea, Christine snatched away her hand. "No." The coldness of her voice stung him. "You need to leave now. I can't see you, I promised him that I…" She hesitated, as if afraid that the man she spoke of could hear them. "If you love me, you will leave Paris as soon as you can, Raoul."

"How can you be so cruel to me?" he moaned, slumping against the doorframe as he fought against his own tears. "Sometimes I think that you must care about me, if only a little, and yet you constantly order me away! If you love someone, Christine, you can't bear to be parted from that person!"

Christine laughed at his declaration, but she sounded unnatural and bitter to Raoul's ears. "Don't be a fool! It is because I care for you that I want you to go away! I'd rather you think me cruel and still be alive!"

"Do not fear for my safety, Christine! He should be the one who is afraid." Raoul tightened his hand into a fist, gleefully imagining pounding it into her manipulative lover's face.

Christine sighed, and when she finally answered him, she sounded very weary and older than her years. "He has killed many people, Raoul, so many. It would be easy for him to kill you, but  _it would break my heart_."

It was the closest that Christine had ever come to confessing her feelings towards him, and the young vicomte pressed his forehead against the door with a passionate agony that is well known to lovers the world over. "I need to see you," he whispered plaintively, unashamed to beg. "I  _must_  see your face."

"Raoul, my promise—"

"Damn your promise!" Raoul didn't recognize the snarl that came from his throat, and he quickly gentled his tone. "I need to see you Christine, at least once. If you want me to leave Paris, you must tell me so to my face, and not with a door between us."

He could hear Christine rising from the floor, and Raoul's heart pounded painfully in his chest as he stood and waited for her to open the door. In spite of his impassioned words, he had no intention of leaving Paris before his expedition for the North Pole set sail, and perhaps not even then. If she would have him, he would do anything to keep her, even disgrace his family name…

She was gone for several moments, and Raoul tapped his foot as he lingered in the hallway. Instead of the door swinging open, however, she slid a piece of folded paper into the corridor. Raoul bent to retrieve the missive, puzzled.

"Don't open it here," Christine murmured harshly. "Don't say a word of it aloud, ever, to anyone. You never know who is listening. Go home, Raoul, and don't try to meet me again."

Raoul called out her name, but she didn't answer him. More than a little hurt, Raoul fumbled with the note and attempted to read it in the dim light of the hallway.

_My Dearest:_

Raoul's chest puffed out a little at the endearment as he continued to read the hastily-scribbled letter.

_Go to the masked ball at the Opera on New Year's Eve. At midnight, be in the little room behind the chimney-place of the big crush-room. Stand near the door that leads to the Rotunda. Wear a white domino and be carefully masked. If you love me, do not let yourself be recognized._

_Your Christine_

He glanced once more at the door, but it remained closed to him. With a lovelorn sigh, Raoul tucked the paper into his pocket, and he allowed his fingers to run over the ragged edge of the note for a moment before walking towards the stairwell.

He felt much lighter leaving the building than he had when entering it. He would see Christine again, and soon – the masked ball was only a little over a week away, and he would use the time to think of a way to convince her that they should never be parted again. Raoul would prove his love for her to all of Paris, and he would prove to Christine that he was capable of defending them both. He was a de Chagny, and he feared no one and nothing.

Not even the shadow that, still unbeknownst to Raoul, had heard every word exchanged between the pair and was now following the young man back to his brother's home, its long skeletal fingers twisting around a knotted strand of catgut.


End file.
